


when the wind blows

by finkpishnets



Category: The Halcyon (TV)
Genre: Family, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-15
Updated: 2017-12-15
Packaged: 2019-02-14 22:26:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13017435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/finkpishnets/pseuds/finkpishnets
Summary: Once the air clears, Toby stays.





	when the wind blows

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jiokra](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jiokra/gifts).



> happy yuletide, jiokra! i was so happy when i found out i was getting to write for this fandom, and then i stumbled over narrowing down _what_ to write, and in the end chose the simplest option, so, hi! have straight up post-finale fic that was supposed to cover the following weeks and instead is just about the rest of that night. i hope you enjoy it all the same!
> 
> have a great holiday, and thanks for requesting these brilliant boys ♥︎

**~**

 

 

Once the air clears, Toby stays.

There’s only the one small window, but it’s a cold night, and the wind fights its way through and out the door, propped open with a rickety dining chair. Adil’s sat on the stairs, head tipped back against the wall, and Toby can barely bring himself to drag his eyes away from the rise and fall of his chest.

It’s an hour before the smell’s dissipated enough to be safe. One of Adil’s kind, elderly neighbours brings them weak tea and a blanket when Toby spins a story about a gas leak, and they sit in the stairwell as Toby wills his heart rate back to normal.

“Come on,” he says eventually, when he’s certain the danger’s passed. “We can’t stay out here all night.”

He helps Adil to his feet, manoeuvres him across to the bed, and closes the door, carefully tucking the chair back against the wall where he’d found it. He’s been here only once before, a spontaneous visit after work, thousands of excuses running through his head as he’d read the address from a scrap of hotel paper to the taxi driver, made worth it by the look of delighted surprise on Adil’s face when he’d opened the door.

Then, he’d been overwhelmed by Adil’s smile; now, he’s content with the sound of Adil coughing life back into his lungs.

“Can I get you anything?” Toby says, hands fluttering awkwardly at his side. He wants to reach out and touch, to never stop, but he doesn’t have that right anymore, at least not without a conversation, and he feels useless with fear and relief. “Do you have anything for your head, at least?”

“Water’s fine,” Adil says, words little more than a choked whisper, and Toby moves hastily to comply, filling a tin mug from the sink and handing it over with shaking fingers. 

“I don’t know what to do now,” Toby admits, pathetically. “Should I call for a doctor? Should I go?”

“Stay?” Adil asks, small and unsure and barely able to meet Toby’s eye, and Toby drops heavily onto the bed next to him, pressing his face into the curve of Adil’s shoulder and barely resisting the urge to cry.

“As long as you’ll have me,” he says, and it doesn’t feel like nearly enough.

 

 

**~**

 

 

Adil’s bed shouldn’t be big enough for the both of them, but they make it work, Adil tucked against the wall and Toby curled up behind him like he can shield him from the world. He can feel Adil’s heartbeat under his palm, and he lets it ease some of the tension coiled up inside him until he’s no longer ready to snap apart.

He whispers apologies and promises and declarations of love until the words begin to blur and Adil tangles their fingers together, bringing them to his lips and kissing them softly. 

“I forgive you,” Adil says. “Do you forgive me?”

“Yes,” Toby says, “of course. I should never have blamed you to begin with. I was just so _scared_ , and I thought—”

“You thought I was using you,” Adil says, and Toby can feel tears dampening his palm. “I was scared, too. We both were. But _never_ doubt that I truly love you.”

Toby’s own eyes feel wet, and he tightens his hold on Adil until it feels like they’re welded together.

“It’s only been a few months,” he says, desperately trying to put voice to the _whys_ that still matter, “and no one’s ever…Not me. Freddie’s the beautiful one, the charismatic one. Emma fell in love with him before any of us even knew what that _meant_ , and she’s far from alone. I just thought…I suppose I thought that if anyone was ever going to love _me_ , it would have to be slowly and with a lot of work.”

It feels like he’s admitted too much, but then Adil’s laughing into a sigh, and Toby’s not sure if he should be hurt, or embarrassed, or—

“I loved you before I even knew who you were,” Adil says, voice quiet and earnest. “You were home from Oxford for the summer, and you spent the first few weeks sat in the bar with a crooked tie and a string of books, mouthing the words silently and getting agitated every time someone tried to talk to you but pretending otherwise. And then, one afternoon, you stopped Billy to ask about his parents and his sister and how he was enjoying his summer, and you listened to every word, even when he started describing his stomach bug. 

It was only when I was busy one evening and asked Tom to take a whisky over to the gentleman who always had his nose in a book, and Tom said, “What, Mr Hamilton?” that I realised who you were, and by then…”

“ _Adil_ ,” Toby starts, but Adil cuts him off.

“I’ve thought you were remarkable since I first laid eyes on you,” he says, twisting in Toby’s arms until they’re face to face, and it’s unbelievable, _impossible_ , except for the fact that it’s quite clearly the absolute and honest truth, “and I’ve loved you almost as long. So, _please_ , never doubt it again.”

It’s overwhelming, and Toby’s heart aches with it.

“I’m an idiot,” he says. “Any time I pretend to be smart, please remind me of that.”

Adil’s laugh is desperate with relief, and Toby can’t help but lean forward and press their lips together.

When Adil kisses back, it really does feel like forgiveness.

 

 

**~**

 

 

There was never any real chance of sleep, not when the gas gage is only a glance away and they’re forced to shiver through the blast of cold air from the window for at least a while longer, just in case. Toby can’t quite believe the night’s events have really happened, _wouldn’t_ if not for the pallor of Adil’s cheeks and the bursts of coughing that wrack through Adil’s bones into his.

The knock at the door is an unwelcome surprise Toby’s ready to ignore until Tom’s voice joins it.

“Adil? You there? Shit, please be there.”

Adil shoots Toby a look, and Toby debates all possible routes for a second before rolling out of bed and going to answer the door himself. Adil makes a noise of protest, but Toby’s not letting him out of bed, especially not to lie for him yet again, not tonight.

“Tom,” he says, and Tom blinks at him in surprise. Toby’s about to say that Adil’s not feeling well, that Toby had stopped by to check on him — the truth, in some variety — except that Tom’s shock turns swiftly to astounded relief, and it’s Toby’s turn to blink in confusion.

“Mr Hamilton!” Tom says. “Oh thank God. Lady and Lord Hamilton have been going frantic.”

“Why?” he asks, and feels ice trickle down his spine at the thought that maybe D’Abberville—

“The hotel!” Tom says, and Toby feels Adil appear over his shoulder.

“What happened, Tom?” he asks, voice still cracked from exposure. 

“You don’t know?” he says. “Shit, sorry. The hotel, it got hit. Right in the middle of the party.”

“No,” Toby says, and wonders if he’ll ever stop feeling terrified for more than a few hours. If he’ll ever feel safe anywhere that’s not Adil’s arms ever again. “Is anyone hurt? My mother, my brother, are they—?”

“They’re fine,” Tom says. “Last I saw, anyway. Not everyone was so lucky, though. A lot of people at the party…” He breaks off, swallowing hard, and Toby notices how his hand is pressed against his side, the whites of his uniform stained with blood.

“Are _you_ hurt?” he says. “Here, sit down, man.”

Tom takes the seat gratefully, the same one Toby had propped the door open with only hours before. Adil’s bed is unmade and obviously lain in, but Toby doubts Tom will notice, much less care, in light of things. 

“Several gone,” Tom says. “Guests, for the most part, far as I know. Betsey, though…a bad hit to the head. Nurse said she was dead there for a moment, before they were able to pull her back, but she hasn’t woken up yet.”

“Christ,” Adil says, filling his empty water cup with cheap whisky from the bottle on his bedside table and passing it to Tom. “Sonny must be going mad.”

“We were worried he was dead, too,” Tom admits. “Found him under the rubble on the stage, eventually. Knocked unconscious with a broken leg. Minute he woke up he started asking about Bets and wouldn’t even see a doctor until he’d felt her pulse himself.”

“Of course he wouldn’t,” Toby says immediately, and then swallows as he feels the weight of Adil’s heavy gaze. “Do you live nearby, Tom?”

Tom nods, draining the whisky. “Few streets away. Realised on my way back I hadn’t seen Adil since this afternoon and panicked.” He looks at Adil, and Toby remembers that they’re friends — _family_ , as Mr Gardner frequently calls the Halcyon staff — and it’s not just empty words.

“I…took the night off,” Adil says, and Toby wants so badly to hold his hand.

“Thank God,” Tom says, standing carefully. “I best get home. You don’t look too good, Adil. Was that what the letter was about? Nice of you to check on him, Mr Hamilton.”

Toby realises then that it doesn’t seem strange to Tom at all, Toby being here. Maybe a little sentimental, but then, the weight of the Halcyon family extends to this sort of kindness. Tom doesn’t think it strange that he would be friends with a member of staff, probably just thinks he’s taking more of an interest in the hotel and being a bit soft about it given the circumstances, or that he’d rather spend time with the lower classes than the prigs he and Freddie used to know before war reminded people to look at their choices.

“Do you need help getting home, Tom? A cab, at least?” he says, and Tom looks like he’s going to wave the offer away, but hesitates as he presses his palm back to his side.

“It’s only a few streets—” he says, a half-hearted protest at best, but clearly his injury is causing enough grief that he’s even considering it.

Toby waves a hand, and then lets Tom lean his weight on his shoulder as they head downstairs, any adrenaline from the bombing clearly beginning to wane as Tom’s feet shuffle forward. It takes a while to find a taxi, rare as they are during war-time, but eventually Toby hails one down and directs it back up the street to where Tom and Adil are waiting. He pays the man handsomely considering the distance, and Tom thanks him profusely before telling him he’ll be back at work as soon as he’s healed up to help with the repairs.

“I should get back to the hotel,” Toby says once the cab’s turned the corner. “If there was any other choice—”

“Of course you’re going,” Adil says, shaking his head. “We both are. Just let me grab my coat.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Toby says, but Adil waves him off.

“I won’t be able to sleep anyway,” he says, and it sounds like _‘Don’t leave me’._

“All right,” Toby says, and it sounds like _’Never.’_

 

 

**~**

 

 

Toby’s heart has broken so many times over the past few weeks that it seems almost impossible it should be able to break again, but the sight of the Halcyon proves him wrong.

There’s people and dust everywhere, ambulance sirens drowning out the calls of volunteers still carrying bodies from the wreckage. It’s too much, far too much, and Toby can’t help but falter feet away from the chaos, only remembering to breathe when Adil’s hand presses gently against the small of his back.

“Your brother,” Adil says, just as Freddie turns and sees him, shouting his name as he stumbles forward.

“Thank God,” Freddie says, wrapping his arms around Toby and pulling him close. “Oh, thank _God_. Where have you _been?_ I thought… _Christ_.”

“I’m okay, Freds,” Toby says, holding him back just as tightly. He smells of ash and sweat, and Toby curls his fingers in the back of Freddie’s ruined tuxedo jacket and thinks that neither four minutes nor his father’s best attempts could take this from them. “Mother? Emma?”

“Emma’s fine,” Freddie says. “She went with Betsey to the hospital. Mother’s pretty badly shaken.”

“I’ll find her,” Toby says, and Freddie nods, running a hand through his hair and only succeeding in smearing dust across his forehead.

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” Freddie says, dropping his voice so it’s just for the two of them. Toby has no doubt Adil can hear it anyway. “If anything happened to you…”

“I know,” Toby says. “Christ, Freddie, of _course_ I know. How do you think I feel every time you get in that damned plane?”

“This _fucking_ war,” Freddie says, and it startles a laugh from Toby before he can stop himself, leaving Freddie looking inordinately pleased. “I should get back before Mr O’Hara thinks I’m slacking. Go find Mother before she drives herself mad.”

Toby nods and hugs Freddie close one more time before letting him slip back into his responsibilities. When he turns to look at Adil, Adil’s watching him fondly. 

“Sometimes it’s easy to forget you’re twins,” he says. “Other times it’s almost the most important thing about you both.”

“He’s my brother,” Toby says, but even his shrug can’t stop it sounding warm and proud.

“Come on,” Adil says, fingers brushing over Toby’s arm, just briefly. “We should join the fray.”

Toby nods, taking a deep breath, then another, and follows him into the wreckage.

 

 

**~**

 

 

He finds his mother in the lobby, brushing away a nurse who’s fussing over a cut on her forehead, gaze fixed on the grand staircase across the room and only breaking her stare when Toby calls out to her.

“ _Toby_ ,” she says. “Oh, thank goodness.”

The nurse is almost knocked over in his mother’s rush to get to him, and her embrace is somehow even tighter than Freddie’s.

“Where the hell have you been?” she says, then shakes her head. “No, never mind, it doesn’t matter. You’re all right?”

“I’m _fine_ , mother,” he says, holding her by the elbows and letting her stare her fill. “Completely uninjured, I assure you.”

“Good,” she says, and reaches out to brush a strand of hair from his face. “Oh, _darling_.”

Across the room, Mr Garland is issuing orders to anyone in a fit state to help. It appears that the majority of rooms have already been cleared, but there’s structural damage to assess and belongings to be boxed up before more costs can wrack up. Toby’s always held a healthy amount of respect for Mr Garland, but now, seeing his quiet calm in the face of devastation, it becomes ten-fold.

Adil’s left Toby’s side but stayed within his line of sight, checking in with Peggy as she bandages a young lady’s ankle and accepting a clap on the shoulder from Mr Robbie as he passes by. Toby thinks he manages not to follow his movements too closely, but then Adil starts coughing, and Toby’s stepping towards him before he can stop himself, only halted by his mother’s grasp on his arm. Across the room, Peggy’s clapping Adil on the back and sending someone to get some water, and Toby lets himself be turned back around.

His mother’s look is searching, and Toby tenses, ready for the worst of it, before she sighs and pulls him back into another crippling hug. 

“My sweet, sweet boy,” she says, and Toby realises then that she knows. 

He should be terrified, should be pleading ignorance and denying everything, should be promising a thousand boring afternoons with boring girls just for the _chance_ of doubt.

Instead he sinks into her arms and chokes down a sob he can’t fight.

“Mother…” he says, and she pats his back before pulling away to swipe at her own eyes. 

“Right,” she says. “Now, there’s so very much to be done. See what Mr Gardner needs your help with, won’t you, darling? And Toby, I know you’ve been working hard at the War Office, but with your brother always at base, I could really use you here, especially now. It’s honestly too much for me to handle on my own, even with Mr Gardner’s particular brand of regime.” 

It’s an out. The perfect exit from the sticky situation he’s got himself into, and a chance to be here, with the people he loves, all day, every day.

Or, it would be, if it weren’t for—

“Oh, and Toby,” his mother continues, gaze sharp with something new and altogether a little frightening, “I’m sorry to say that Mr D’Abberville was caught in the blast. He didn’t make it, the poor man.”

Toby blinks at her and has the overwhelming feeling that he’ll never understand all of the events that unfolded underneath this roof tonight, and that the relief that floods over him more than makes up for it.

“I’m sorry,” he says, voice wavering, and hopes she hears what he’s really saying. “I know you were friends.”

“Don’t be silly, dear,” she says, curving the palm of her hand across his cheek, “I hardly knew him.”

Toby thinks this might be the most honest moment his mother and he have ever shared, and how ironic and unsurprising it is that they’re having to speak in untruths to have it.

“I’ve organised a room at the Berkeley for the time being,” his mother says. “Would you like me to arrange one for you, too, or do you have somewhere else to stay?”

It’s a loaded question, and a week ago he would have ducked his head and backed out before even the possibility of confrontation could arise.

Tonight his mother’s staring at him with clear eyes and the man he loves is feet away, breathing through the aftermath of (— _God_ —) a suicide attempt.

“I have somewhere to stay,” he says, keeping his head high, and his mother nods with something that almost looks to Toby like approval.

“Try and get _some_ rest,” she says. “We’ve a lot of work ahead of us.”

“Yes, mother,” he says, and, for maybe the first time in his life, is glad to be a Hamilton.

 

 

**~**

 

 

The sun’s been up for hours by the time they make it back to Adil’s room, exhausted and aching.

Toby had persuaded Adil into light tasks that could be done seated when it had become glaringly obvious how weak Adil was feeling, but eventually it was clear even that was too much, and Toby had insisted they call it a night. No one had minded, most everyone choosing to wait for clear heads and daylight before they began any real move towards fixing the damage, and Toby and Adil had slipped away amongst the crowds.

They’d forgotten to close the window before they’d left, and they rush to slip out of their filthy clothes and under the blankets, neither of them even glancing towards the fireplace.

Toby slides down until he can rest his head against Adil’s chest, tangling their legs together and listening to Adil’s heart beat beneath his ear as Adil sighs and presses a kiss to his hair, wrapping his arms around Toby’s shoulders.

Tomorrow they’ll have to face the day’s tangle of events — _really_ face them — and Toby knows he and Adil still owe each other more than a few painful conversations, knows the Halcyon will look no better with sleep, but right now none of it can temper the building warmth of realisation settling over him. 

“We’re going to be all right,” he says, and still can’t quite believe it’s true. “D’Abberville’s dead, Mother knows about me and the world hasn’t ended, and you’re _here_ , safe and alive and _mine_.”

“ _Yes_ ,” Adil says. “And you’re mine.”

His words carry the same awe his eyes had the first time Toby kissed him, and Toby wants to wrap it up and keep it forever. Wants to shout from the rooftops that this beautiful, extraordinary, brave man chose _him_ , loves _him_ , and that Toby will never, ever let anyone hurt him again, especially not Toby’s own sharp tongue and scared stupidity.

He settles for leaning up and kissing him softly, instead.

“Sleep,” he says, Adil’s eyelids already fluttering closed against cheeks only just beginning to regain their colour. “I’m right here.”

“Promise?” Adil says, drowsily.

“Promise,” Toby says, and knows it sounds like _’Forever.’_

 

 


End file.
